"Our baritone I almost had forgot,

A pretty lad, but bursting with conceit;

With graceful action, science not a jot,

A voice of no great compass, and not sweet,

He always is complaining of his lot,

Forsooth, scarce fit for ballads in the street;

In lovers' parts his passion more to breathe,

Having no heart to show, he shows his teeth."[EG]